


Whumpage

by Dale_Gardener



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Ficlet, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-23
Updated: 2010-09-23
Packaged: 2017-10-12 03:12:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/120138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dale_Gardener/pseuds/Dale_Gardener
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bit of meta fic about whumpage and those damn fangirls</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whumpage

"Whump," Hutch declared bitterly.

Starsky lifted his head, one eyebrow raised. "What?"

"Whump and whumpage. It's one of those fangirl things. Again."

Starsky recognised the signs of a Ken Hutchinson with a bee in his bonnet and leaned back on the couch to enjoy the show.

"What? Like the really kinky sex?"

"No. Not like the really kinky sex. More like the hurt/comfort thing, only not necessarily with the comfort."

"Ah. Gotcha." Starsky looked wary. He could in that case understand Hutch's reservations about 'whump', which was a word that sounded unpleasantly like the concussive force of an explosion. "So, the fangirls are getting ready for a good bout of whumping? Maybe we should leave town. Whaddaya think, Blondie, just you and me somewhere nice?"

"They'd only follow us," Hutch said, with a long-suffering sigh. "You know the drill. One of us would disappear in a strange place, abducted by an old enemy, and tortured, and the other one would have to struggle against hostile, disbelieving local law enforcement that would either be corrupt or incompetent."

Starsky considered this possibility with a sour expression. "Yeah. It does all sound kind of familiar." He stood up and rubbed his hands together. "Okay, that's it, you and I had better have some kinky sex right now to distract 'em."

Hutch leaned his head against the back of his chair. He was biting his lip, worrying his mustache and clenching his fists. "Sorry, Starsk. This has got me so riled up that I'm not really in the mood."

Starsky felt whumped right there. Those damn fangirls.

"Still," Hutch continued. "I suppose I can't completely blame them when you look at the example set by the powers that be."

Starsky wasn't so sure about the blame thing. Anything that got Hutch so riled up that he wasn't in the mood for sex sounded pretty damn blameworthy to him.

Hutch leaned forward, his hands waving in the air to emphasise his point. "How many times have you or I been beaten up, drugged, stabbed, shot, dropped off high places, poisoned or set up, huh? Not to mention petty humiliations. I mean, look at Vegas. I knew those clothes were ridiculous."

"Hey, come on," Starsky protested. "Those suits were cute - if you know I mean."

"Just because you never grew out of playing dress-up." Hutch was getting so agitated that he had to stand and pace. "Or that business on Playboy Island. Blackface. I mean really, Starsky. Blackface? Just wrong on so many levels. Not to mention the classic whumpage right there in that damn case. You being brainwashed into attacking me, and us falling off the cliff."

"I dunno, Hutch. I may be extrapolating from you being all riled here, but wouldn't classic whumpage have been more like me attacking you and us falling off the cliff and not landing in the sea, but on the rocks, but I'm cushioned by your body, even though I'm hurt and I drag my broken boned body towards help all the while thinking about what a weak-minded heel I am not to be able to resist the mind control?"

Hutch had stopped short at this long speech from Starsky and was staring at him in absolute horror. " My god, Starsky! Have you gone crazy?" It was nearly a wail. "Don't give those women any more ideas!"

Starsky felt a touch abashed. "Hey, babe, you're right. But that just shows that it's even more important to think about other things besides whumpage. Like sex." He approached Hutch, and smiled as seductively as he could, which was exceedingly seductively. "It'd be fun for us and distracting for them." He put a hand, both soothing and stimulating against the nape of Hutch's neck.

"Well. I guess that you have a point." The flush on the fair skin might have been arousal rather than irritation.

"Exactly," Starsky said in satisfaction. "Okay, you just come right along with me, and the magic Starsky fingers will get you out of those dumps."

But alas. Even as Starsky and Hutch made sweet, sweet love, little did they know that Gunther and Forest were in a limo, leading two vans full of the vast numbers of lowlifes that Bay City's finest had put in the Big House. Gunther and Forest were in the back of the limo, trying to one-up each other's stories of how they made gorgeous blonde hookers and gold diggers beg for it. In the front of the limo, sitting next to a very nervous chauffeur, Papa Theodore was practicing The Police's 'Every Breath You Take" on his flute, and laughing maniacally now and then.

The lowlifes in the vans were armed with a vast assortment of tools of assault and battery and torture, including, but not necessarily limited to: guns, whips, knives, razor blades, street drugs, experimental drugs, coshes, nunchakas and vials of exotic infective agents. And Prudholm was sitting on the top of one van, hanging on to the metal rack there, waving one hand in the air like a crazy cowboy, and screaming, "Starsky, you pig. You're gonna get it good!"

Those damn fangirls.


End file.
